


as if we live by different laws

by thingswithwings



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Melancholy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-28
Updated: 2007-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the space before dawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as if we live by different laws

  
The new planet is cooler, greener, lush and damp like perpetual autumn. Atlantis drifts through the ocean, surrounded by clean cold fog, the smell of water sliding into the depths of the city, filling Rodney's nose and mouth with the scent of ozone. It's still his city, still their city: the smear of blood that never quite washed away in that lab that they never use; the Ancient devices that promise revelation, succour, escape; the door that Sheppard blew up, that one time, saving Ford and Zelenka from asphyxiation.

Sheppard's always liked open spaces; Rodney isn't observant, but he's observed that much.

Rodney drags his fingers against the walls of the corridors, sometimes, when he's alone and no one is there to see. He likes the idea of leaving something of himself behind: skin cells, sweat from his palms, his body invisibly marking the clean blue corridors.

At this hour of the morning, the city is almost still; Rodney moves through the empty halls with purpose, intent on getting to his lab and resuming the tests he'd left unfinished the night before.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, almost lost to his vision, Rodney notices Sheppard standing on one of the balconies. He's wearing his running clothes: a t-shirt dark-ringed with sweat, ratty grey sweatpants, even rattier once-white sneakers. It's not an unusual sight at this time of the day, but there's something unusual in Sheppard's posture, in the way he grips the railing with his hands and the way his shoulders bunch and the way his head seems slightly bowed. The fog sits heavy on the balcony floor, swirling against Sheppard's bare ankles.

Something – maybe the same something that bends Sheppard's back and bows his head – makes Rodney stop, his lab forgotten. Something makes Rodney join Sheppard on the balcony, in this quiet moment before the day really begins. He leans his elbows on the railing to Sheppard's right, lacing his fingers together.

Sheppard straightens, nods at him. "Rodney," he says.

"John," Rodney returns politely.

The t-shirt that Sheppard is wearing is stretched out around the neck and gapes over his collarbones; from amidst his dark chest hair, Rodney can see the scar that John usually keeps quiet behind zippers and buttons, the top edge of the wraith-mark. Rodney wonders if it's sensitive to touch, or if it maybe feels dead, numb.

Rodney can't take the silence: the cool fog and the first lights of dawn feel oppressive, like this stolen moment in time will dissipate with the water vapour. He can't take the silence, so he speaks.

"So, we've got that mission today," he says, inanely. "That planet where everyone wears those sparkly capes, remember?"

An echo of a smile passes on John's face. "Those capes are _fabulous_ ," he says. Rodney smiles; there was that one time that they had sex, him and John, almost a year ago now, and since then they've shared a half-dozen little jokes like this, little in-jokes that remind them of this thing they share, _you're-gay-I'm-gay-we're-friends_.

Rodney still thinks about it, sometimes, thinks about the argument that led to angry kisses, the slick hard feel of John's tongue against his own. He can't remember the argument anymore, but he remembers the sex – remembers John's narrow bed, the way that John had rolled over and spread his thighs, panting, the way that Rodney had slid into him, fast and hard and effortless. They never did it again, never mentioned it again, just kept teasing each other over breakfast and playing their video game together and Rodney's pretty okay with that; he likes being John's friend.

But at times like this, when John's muscles are tense and his mouth is set, when there's no teasing or playfulness or friendliness – at times like this, Rodney remembers the noises that John made while Rodney fucked him, the soft low groans.

Rodney edges a little closer to Sheppard on the balcony, sliding his palm along the railing. His pinky finger eventually collides with John's, but John doesn't move away.

Rodney lifts his finger slightly and hooks it over John's; he rubs their pinkies together, slowly, firmly, friction making a spot of warmth in the cool air.

And maybe it's because the dawn still hasn't quite broken, or maybe it's because they're in their old city on this new planet, or maybe it's because he wants to, but John turns his hand over, palm up. Rodney hesitates, but then reaches out: squeezes John's hand against his. John's grip is brief and hard, warm and masculine; then he pulls away.

"See you later, Rodney," John says.

Rodney nods. The sun comes up.


End file.
